


Burning Man Eclipse

by EldritchButAnxious (Solisque)



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Dorks, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Family, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Slow Build, Slow Burn, drug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solisque/pseuds/EldritchButAnxious
Summary: Life is just a big irony game, and what’s a bigger irony than two polar opposites falling in love? This work, obviously. Watch as an eldritch personification of fear (who just so happens to suffer from anxiety) older than time itself make a spoiled demon prince (that doesn’t really wanna to follow his dad’s trails)  fall in love with him as he tries to help the spicy red baby to get back to his past-future-life crush, just to end up cuddling with one big black...mass of fear, just like the blazing hot sun in an eclipse, but way hotter.
Relationships: Damien LaVey/Yellow | Oz
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first ever fanfiction, perhaps it was too bold of a move to start with such a complex love story whilst trying to keep it kind of cannon, and still plausible, and adding the irreverent humor characteristic to the game? Maybe. That said, I’m equally excited and anxious (actually, mostly anxious). Nonetheless I really hope you enjoy this little piece of writing I did. Also, I’m quite open to all criticism and any suggestions, since I’m kind of new. Happy reading!

It’s a beautiful day in the 8th circle of hell, birds are singing, flowers are blooming. On days like these, on days like these, kids like Damien should be burning, but he’s fire resistant, so he’s just waiting for Kiki’s...I mean, Hope’s delivery service. By total coincidence, that red spicy baby lost one of his shears in a corpse’s skull, which nobody can really prove it was him who put it there, and he needed to order a new one, totally not an excuse to see his crush who, by another amazing coincidence, is the CEO (and only employee of Hope’s delivery service.

After spending a few hours patiently waiting for his package, which for Damien is just an euphemism for just torturing the poor lost souls that ended up in hell (or as they are more commonly called, tourists) by setting them on fire (surprisingly, it’s a rather monotonous activity to do, given that basically everything in the LaVey real mis basically on fire, all the time), the red demon gets a glimpse of an otherwise blatant violation of Studio Ghibli’s copyright’s if she had a black cat: Hope, flying with his parcel in a broom, not really parodying a famous anime movie, but just because she’s just too short to drive any delivery vehicle.

— Hey there Hope! Good to see you here! What brings you to hell in this beautiful day?

The small witch quickly glances over to the short skeleton with an eye cavity in blue flames whilst he beats the heck out of a kid in a striped shirt. Someone definitely needs to review its concept of a beautiful day. She just rolls her eyes.

— Look, we can both pretend you didn’t call me here just because you wanted to spend time with me, or you can sign for the delivery and invite me in for some star anise tea.

There was a quick pause.

— But let me do it, I am pretty confident in your capabilities of burning even the water for the tea.

Damien was deeply offended by that, not because her backhanded compliment questioned his most elementary domestic skills, insinuating he’s just a spoiled prince that deep down, the red demon knew was an outrage against his manhood (and not in the way he would like), but because he had no idea of what on earth is star anise. And Damien, like any spoiled brat, can’t withstand acknowledge not knowing something, so he just assumed, despite his ignorance around witchcraft subjects, that it referred to some potion ingredient, and an aphrodisiac one at that. Just cause, you know, all wiccans do is brew potions and orgies with vampires.

— The fuck is that? A potion? Bet it is really arousing. Is that what Joy gives to the coven supervillains to get laid with them? Didn’t know you had such a sexy side.

Hope rolls her eyes fiercely.

— I could even say I’m astonished at your ignorance and sexism, but I’ve already got used to it at this point.

Seeing Damien’s presumptuous smirk, she rolls her eyes again, adding:

— Which doesn’t mean I like those traits.

— But what about the aphrodisiac and the fucking, they up? – Damien asked hopefully. And, oh boy, he could tell that something of his was really up, alright.

— Ugh, just forget the wretched tea, okay? It’s my fault for hoping a decent conversation from you anyways. – was Hope’s response, for the demon’s frustration. – At any rate, I still need you to sign for the package.

She followed his glance down.

— Not THAT package! The parcel. With the scissors.

Damien got really ruddy, an astonishing feat, given his fairly vibrant red complexion. He didn’t think Hope would know the contents of his order.

— sCISSOR- ahem- what scissors? I can’t recall... 

— You know, the hairdressing shears you ordered as an excuse to be able to talk to me in person?

Damien forces a meek laugh to cover for his obvious embarrassment and come up with a quick excuse, which, just between us, will most definitely involve murderous intent.

—Oh, yeah! That scissor, yeah, totally...You know what? It just so happens that I have some murders to commit, and I’ve kinda grown tired of using fire all the time, because I’ve been doing it since I was four, and it’s getting really repetitive, so I’m trying new methods?...

Told you.

Hope gave the demon a look from top to bottom and raised one of her brows.

— Let me get this straight: you, prince of hell, ordered online some hairdressing shears... to murder someone?

— That’s right, I only shop for two things: my dads’ birthday gifts and assassination weapons. Anyway, we’re getting off the track, how the fuck do you know what I ordered?

— While I’m obviously not defined by just that, I’m still a witch, I have clairvoyance. Anyhow, you really ordered a Matsui Aichei Mountain Rose Gold, a topline, very expensive and very, very specific scissor, to be a murder weapon?

Damn, the little witch’s oddly specific knowledge about hairdressing shears was kind of enticing for Damien. What didn’t encourage him to step down, of course.

— Any fucking problems?

— No remote possibility of them being for haircuts?

— Of fucking course not, why the hell would I use them for that?

— Why the hell not?

— Cause Cutting hair is not METAL, murdering is fucking metal! How the hell Will I keep my title of a spicy red adult if I’m doing lame things like hairdressing?

— Sure, even because rose gold scissors are the Apex of manliness. – Hope scoffed.

— EXACTL- NO!! I mean, just when they’re thrusted into somebody’s skull.

— Would you mind demonstrating?

There was an awkward pause. Hope wanted proof those shears were, indeed, intended for murder only, and not for Damien’s collection of very stylish hairdressing tools (which he swears doesn’t exist) that he has been excitingly waiting to add to while it was in his Wishlist for the last six months until he had saved enough from the allowance his dads gave him and the Money he stumbled upon in his arson victims, cause he’s one lucky demon.

— I... d-don’t have to prove I’m metal to any fucking one, you hear me? Fuck off!

Hope once again rolls her eyes. At this point it’s just turned into some sort of ritual to cast a patience spell. Or a “goddess help me” kinda spell.

— That’s why we’ll never work despite you not so healthy crush on me, Damien.

— Because of the scissors?

— No.

— Oh, it was the weird tea misconception earlier, right?

— NO!

Damien was visibly confused.

— It’s your toxic masculinity. While we were in high school, I could put up with it, even because I had to see your face every single day at Spooky High. These kinds of encounters were sort of cute back then, like some sort of Hermione Viktor Krum type of thing, you know what I’m saying?

He really didn’t.

— But we’ve already graduated (surprisingly) and followed very different paths. I’ve got my own business, and I need dedicate myself to it, so I don’t really have the time for a man that can’t compromise seriously. I think it’s the best we stop right here.

Right where it hurts, not physically (those would be the nuts), but emotionally, in the metaphorical heart.

— But I can commit. What if I open my own company? This way, we can have so much in common: we’d be both rich, buy neighboring beach houses, have three yachts, and mostly important, exchange business ideas to elevate our companies efficiency, making our employees hereafter produce much more than the actual Money we pay them, ultimately turning them victims and slaves to the capitalist system. See, I’d even let go of my urge to rebel against the present system just to be a business nerd and spend time with you. 

— That is tempting, Damien, but you can’t even go hiking for a couple hours without getting lost and trying to eat your own meat so you don’t “starve” ... again, not THAT meat. What makes you think you could run a lemonade stand, let alone a whole company? What would you even offer as a service?

The red demon’s lips contorted into a smug grin; he already had an answer. He’d offer the only thing a tender youngster so youthful, slim, handsome, healthy, virile, macho at the peak of his age like him could offer:

— Arson.

— Now that’s just plain stupid.

Damned Fucking memes that say “buddy, if you’re good at something, never do it for free!” At least Damien got a lesson from this: never trust the Internet, which led to the conclusion the he’d have to teach the Internet a lesson, by punching Calculester really hard. But later, now he needed a breakthrough idea for a successful business, stat!

— How about...- dramatic pause before sheer dumbness- a delivery service?

— That was, somehow, an even dumber idea than your first one, you’d literally be my competition. But don’t worry, I’m not disappointed, cause I never actually expected a good idea from you. It only goes for showing our paths don’t intertwine for now, but maybe in my next life? Anyhow, I gotta get going, these parcels won’t delivery themselves...or will they? If I enchant them...I’m a fucking genius! Anyway, bye Damien, thanks for choosing our services!

The demon watched bleakly as his crush glided away through the brimstone pits in her broom with her black cat... oh, wait, that’s just Kiki, Hope took the withered bones trails. He felt a great void inside, but mostly confusion. Why did he had to be so fragile and over attached to gender norms? Were his feelings for Hope just a fleeting infatuation from high school? Do they still have a chance, and if so, will he be in an episode of The Coven? “Thanks for choosing our services”, if she’s the only employee for Hope’s delivery service, who is “we” in that sentence?

And the biggest of his doubts: where did he go wrong? Actually no, this question was already answered, it was the fucking star anise tea, for sure. Damnit! It’s because he didn’t know what the fuck was that. Damien cursed the moment in which he didn’t turn into a potion brewing, or a plant nerd, or a boiling water nerd, or a plant IN the boiling water kinda nerd.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Damien said his genitalia can shapeshift into nine different forms during sex, two of which are designed to kill? Anyway, that’s nonimportant, I really hope that my jokes aren’t falling flat, and that you’ll tell me if they are, so I can deliver a better material for you. Happy reading, hope you enjoy!

Damien’s last week has been hell, metaphorically, of course. After Hope rejecting him, he tried everything he could to regain her attention. Firstly, he tried showing some lovely romance, because love is one of the strongest forces in the universe, right after monster trucks, Araavi’s draconic armor set and Dwayne The Rock Johnson, and because absolutely all girl love when a guy when the guy show initiative, just like all the very accurate teen romance movies accurately show. What he did was write “I love you” in huge letters in the sidewalk in front of the office of Hope’s Delivery Service (which Joy calls “the Coven’s hideout basement”) using murder victims’ bodies. It didn’t work. He thought that maybe the message was not creative enough, so he repeated the same process the following day just this time he set the corpses on fire, to add I little bit of a personal flare. He succeeded in getting the little witch’s attention, unfortunately only enough for her to call the police and tell on his crimes because, apparently, burning corpses outdoors is really harmful to the environment due to the gases resulted from the combustion, or something like that. Man, why did Damien Had to fall for such a big nerd? Anyway, it was all drama; the hell burnt 24/7 and was just fine. 

Following the ideas he had gotten from binge watching teen movies, he tried the old technique of the “making a girl agree to meet someone and then revealing that it isn’t that someone she was expecting, but himself, and then proceed to get back together with the girl”. So, he ordered online for tools to start a beetroot farm, the complete box of Battlestar Galactica and an encyclopedia of bears. Despite being a seemingly flawless plan, the only people that showed up were the cops again, because it seems like identity theft is not a joke, millions of families suffer every year. Just like the last time, he set them ablaze, because cops are authorities, and fuck authorities.

Having depleted all the ideas that he got from corny romantic films, Damien resorted to a desperate act: becoming a villain of the Coven, in the hopes that, much like the other antagonists, he could get it on with his beloved witch. For that, he needed a deed so nefarious that it would put the world at risk. At first he thought of purposefully going out in the streets not wearing a mask and not respecting the 6ft social distancing, but he immediately rejected that idea because not even him was capable of so much despise and neglect for the wellbeing of others; just imagining that one could be that much of a douche gave demon shivers down his spine. So he devised another strategy that involved two of his favorite things, crime and questioning authorities: in a plot too complex to even work, but for sure Worth of a TV series, Damien stole a socialist dictator’s coffee which, due to trade bans could not import anymore, so he threatened to nuke the United States, his plan did work (to an extent) with its unnecessarily complicated plot, the red spicy adult (which ended up being it’s supervillain name for The Coven) succeeded int bringing the world to the verge of a nuclear war and he had to be acknowledged as the mastermind behind the malign manipulation. However, al he got from Hope was a good beating, then he got involved in a romantic relationship with Joy for about three months, which seems to inevitably happen to all the antagonists, but your diversion of ideals allied to Damien’s tendency for chaos led to a hurtful breakup, all whilst the plotline of a nuclear mayhem was slowly forgotten in favor of a platonic romance. But since The Coven runs on the format f episodes, only 50 minutes have passed in real life, and all the international crimes he committed received amnesty due to they being story for a teen series. But hey, at least Damien got laid a little.

After his utter failure, the red demon decided to walk aimlessly through Monstropolis, just like in the teen movies, but a little bit of arson. It was already dark by then, so he decided to call his dads to let them know he was gonna go back home late. When he found a random monster on the streets, Damien recited some ancient magic words and the passerby stumbled a little bit and got back up with completely dark eyes.

— What’s up, son? How was your week in the overworld?

The voice that came out belonged to Lucien LaVey, kind of distorted by the demonic possession, but it stills was Damien’s dad voice. Man, do these posesIphones come in handy. And they’re fucking metal.

— Not too good, if I’m being honest.

Lucien’s expression, or better, whoever’s Lucien was controlling at the time to talk to Damien showed a slight tint of concern with whatever happened for his boy to be upset.

— What happened, sweetie? Do you wanna talk about it? Oh, wait a minute, I’m gonna call your dad. 

The king of hell then proceeds to intonate some ancient and sinister chants, or was it just Butthole Surfers played backwards? Damien really shouldn’t have skipped that many of his old demonic Latin classes.

Next to there, an old lady violently squirmed before being possessed by his other father, Stan. Oh, wait, no, she was just having a stroke. Who was really possessed was this nearby little girl, that turned out to be a 30-something woman wearing a blue dress and a ribbon in her neck. The child was so creepy it was hard to tell the difference of the before and after possession. The demon that just taken over the body seemed disappointed.

— Dam it! If I had a penny every time I get a totally creepy little girl for my vessel, I’d have two pennies; which isn’t much, but it’s weird that it happened twice. Anyway, why did you call me?

— Our baby’s having a rough day...

Stan immediately turns his attention to his son and his expression. changed into something like pity.

— Oh, so is he? What happened?

— Nothing much, I got rejected by the girl I have a crush on.

His dads exchanged soul-emptied glances from the bodies they had possessed.

— Ouch, so sorry, but that’s just how it goes. Not everyone is ready to handle the intensity of a LaVey. – Lucien said.

— If it will cheer you up, we can launch a full-blown attack against her with our army, capture her and make her your concubine for the resto f her mortal life. Or go out for an ice cream. Whatever makes you happy.

Damien let out a small giggle, he appreciated his dads trying to lift his mood up.

— That’s how I showed my love to your father. – Stan proceeded – I maneuvered in a pinch formation around Maleboge valley and defeated the enemy platoon that was making a siege in his lands. After that, I rescued him like a damsel.

— More like you took me as your wining spoils.

— To-may-to, to-mah-to.

— It was kind of enticing, actually. Lucie said perked up.

— That’s right, my dick was in battle-axe mode that night, LITERALLY! – Stan declared through the girl.

— And the battle went on for days... in bed. – Lucien’s look already said it all.

This could be a pretty standard conversation in the LaVey household, which got battles, sex, and battle during sex happening in a regular basis, but the scene got really awkward taking in account that the rulers of hell were not talk on-on-one, but by demonic possessions, which made it look like a conversation with a weirdly sensual energy between a young monster and an adult woman who looks like 14.

— DAD, not in public! You’re embarrassing me!

— Oops. Hehe. We’re so sorry, it’s just sometimes you feel so welcomed to someone’s body that we forgot we’re in the overworld.

— Speak for yourself, you’ve got no idea of how uncomfortable this tiny little body feels. – Stan replied.

— Anyhow, we went completely off track, did you call us for a specific reason?

— I just wanted to say that I’m not making home for dinn...

Just as he was about to complete his sentence, something caught Damien’s attention: it was Polly! His high school friend was walking down the avenue with a group of phantoms and ended up entering a night club. Perfect! This was just the abstraction he needed to cheer up.

— Actually, I’ll spend one more night out, okay? See you tomorrow.

Both kings looked at each other again.

— Mkay? You’ve got somewhere to spend the night, right? It’s not really noble of a prince to sleep in a park bench after a rave.

Damn, it’s like he had read his mind.

— Will you need something else, like a change of clothes? Some money? Gasoline and a lighter?...Flavored condoms. We can get it sent to you.

— Stan!

— What? You never know!

— I’ll be alright, I’m not a baby anymore. I haven’t been for quite some time now.

— You know you’ll Always be our red spicy baby.

Damien felt the heat burning his cheeks for the embarrassment. He said goodbye to his dads e laid the possession victim in a park bench, while the woman who looked like a girl seemed unbothered and just kept in her merry way to kill some people or some shit like that.

He followed Polly’s footsteps and came across a building whose frontage read Studio 66...6. Loud music came from inside it and the patrons seemed a little too glamorous for a club house; it was the ideal habitat for a party hard girl! He entered in the seemingly very exclusive club, and all it took was pull a little rank saying he was the only son and heir of the throne of the two kings of hell. Going straight for the restroom, Damien grabbed his emergency materials for unexpected nightclub break-ins: makeup, glitter and ostrich feathers, lots of them. Ironically, he was very prepared for this kind of very specific situation, but his survival common sense was not as nearly as sharp, even for a weekend fishing trip, for which he once packed beach supplies. But hey, same place, different settings. He got really close that time.

Meandering through the dance floor, Damien got to see everything he’d like to see in any night club: Sex, drag and pyrotechnics. People were dancing frantically to EDM music while wearing the most whimsical outfits, that place was lit! There was a single problem: how in the hell would he find a single ghost amidst the partygoers? She could be anywhere. Or not, really, Polly was passed out near the restroom door due to her drink being spiked. He went up to the spirit and gave her a few good shakes until she opened up her eyes. Apparently, someone slipped her a Mickey Finn.

— Huh? What?! Did I die again already?

— Not really, but you might’ve been close to that. Anyways, aren’t you a ghost? Didn’t think you could get affected by spiked drinks.

Polly was so high already that she was having hard times trying to recognize Damien under his costume. After quite a few moments, she seemed to realize the situation she found herself in.

— I wasn’t really, but as one of the Prank Masterz, I couldn’t let the opportunity of pranking the guy who roofied my drink slip, so I made him think I was passed out because of their drug, but really it was because of MY drugs. And it worked! Look, he took all my Family heirlooms that I kept as a keepsake of my old life. Man, what an oaf!

— Fucking metal! You got them good!

— Right? I deserve the praise. Anyways, what are you doing here?

— What are YOU doing here? We’ve graduated already, shouldn’t you be working or something? I mean, how can you afford your addiction?

— First, it’s not an addiction, it’s controlled recreational usage of drugs and beverages.

— Controlled by who?

— My insatiable desire of illicit substances, but that’s not important. The fact is that I am a haunt, and as such, I’ve been self-appointed as Spooky High’s official mocking spirit, which basically means that I get through by scaring the shit out of new students and keeping all the valuables they leave behind while running. It’s really fun. But that is not the matter at hand, you didn’t answer my question.

Recalling the problem he wanted to get away from in the first place, Damien’s expression sulked. Seeing that, Polly invited him to sit at the bar counter with her so they could talk.

— You want me to order you a Capri Sun? – The Poltergeist asked ironically?

— Hey, I’m a fucking adult, got it? I’m pretty capable of ordering my own damn Capri Sun.

As soon as the drinks arrived, the red demon told the party ghost his current situation, until he got here, where he’d like to have lots of really reckless fun and forget his own dilemmas.

— I still don’t get it! Why would she leave me?! I’m so fucking metal, iron’s afraid of me. Guess she’s just another noob after all.

— Man, not cool, it’s really sexist to dish out on a girl just because she doesn’t like you.

— That’s something she would say. But fuck that, I’m here to have fun!

— Just to be clear, I’m not fucking you just so you can forget about your crush.

— I never said I came here for that!

— You literally told you wanted to have fun with me for the night.

— Overrated much? Not every guy says that to a girl means it in a sexual way.

— That’s really reassuring coming from the only one of the two of us who doesn’t have a pussy.

— Who you calling a pussy?!

An awkward moment of silence between the two. Just between the two, since the music and euphoria kept rolling at top volume, making the moment all the more weird.

— Man, you’ve ruined the rave mood! A club isn’t the place to be sulking in the corners, boohooing your pitiful love life, you do that shit in bars.

— Who told you that’s my fucking business, it was you who wanted to listen to story.

— You literally followed me here to try and forget Hope.

Another long, silent moment.

— Ugh, fine! You wanna have fun, cry in your beer and forget this whole night? I’ve got drugs here, good shit, I promise you won’t remember your own name by the time the hangover hits.

As tempting as it sounded, the last time he accepted drugs from Polly, Damien was tripping for 48h straight; I mean, it sounds really cool, but he still had to make home by tomorrow, so he shook his head.

— Then I don’t fucking know what the fuck you want. Just because you’re not happy, it doesn’t mean you have to ruin the fun for everyone, now nobody’s enjoying the party, and I hate not enjoying parties! Why the hell do you even like that girl, anyway?

“Why, indeed?” was the question that immediately popped up in the red demon’s mind. Actually, he had no memory of her prior to the tree weeks previous to the prom, save a slow dance they shared in one of her past lives, which seems to be the totality of the reasons he’s so madly in love with her. Where does this sick obsession with a witch he barely knows come from? Thinking really well, Damien came to realize he didn’t have any memory beyond these three weeks before the prom, a camping trip and some sporadic episodes of his alleged past. What does that even mean? Is it possible that his memories were panted? Did he even exist before them? Can he be just a character of a comedy monster-themed dating sim? Are the events happening right now the delusions of a fanfic author just trying to make a ship happen? What if everything is just a lie?... What the fuck? Man, the club air is really getting to Damien.

Completely ignoring Damien’s interior monologue and subsequent existential crisis, Polly added:

— Yeah, why get attached to somebody who’s not gonna stick around? It’s better to move forward, right?

When he heard that, the prince snapped out the maelstrom of thoughts in his head and stared perplexed at the spook before him.

— Not stick around? What do you mean?

— Oh shit, you didn’t know. Hope’s moving out of Monstropolis to a smaller town where taxes and manpower are way cheaper. It’s close to Mexico. They’ve got the best cocaine over there, and if she gets into that business, I’m definitely striking a deal. Maybe I could even bargain.

Damien’s heart fell into his feet. Hope’s going away to afar and never said a thing to him. He tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words. He was heartbroken. Too much to process.

— On second thought, I’mma take on the drugs offer, whatcha got there?

Polly raised her eyes from the drink for eight people she was drinking on her own in a single sip to look at Damien. She beamed maliciously and pulled out a bottle with opaque glass adorned with straw.

— Now we’re speaking the same language. It’s aioaska, the most mind opening drug there is. It’s a beverage made with mushrooms from latin America, it will expand your senses, and some say one can even divine the future with it!

Damien didn’t fucking care at that point, he interrupted Polly’s lecture on drugs and snatched the flask from her hands, uncorked the bottle and chugged all the liquid. Despite the ghost’s look of concern, he didn’t feel a thing.

— Aw man, c’mon, didn’t your momma teach you to share?! Oh, yeah, the dads, sorry.

— Whatever, so, when does the seeing into the future shenanigan will start, am I looking for a specific sensation?

The demon tried looking for a label or something in the bottle and notice that his fingers had now turned into knifes.

— Oh, fu...

— Damien, Damien, is everything alright? Damien!...

Polly’ voice got muffled along the sound of the music. His surroundings got broader and he could notice every single detail of it at the same time. Neat. And all of a sudden, everything went dark.

Damien woke up feeling groggy, with no sense of self. He fell from a sofa that wasn’t his. In a cats-cradle of blankets and uncoordinated red limbs, he realized he was only in his undies. Looking around, he noticed that he was in a small apartment, specifically it’s living room, with various posters of comic books and anime hanging around, action figures as the sole decoration. the coverlet over his body was PokeMan themed. Cool.

Once he got conscious enough to worry, Damien got concerned about how he couldn’t find his clothes anywhere. He immediately thought the worst.

— Fuck! What did they do to me?

He checked his body for scars, just in case he’s gotten any organ stolen…again. Nothing out of ordinary, just his old battle scars, He headed his hand to his back side to check if he didn’t lose…other things, but a noise coming from the hall that seem to connect the living room to the rest of the place interrupted him. A tall slender figure emerged from there. He didn’t really expect to find Damien awake, so he assumed a really coy posture in the presence of the demon, which is surprising, since the latter was the one literally half-naked in a stranger’s living room. Squinting his eyes to be able to discern the silhouette of his probable assaulter ready to beat the crap outta him, just to see it was the eldritch embodiment of fear. Oz was the one standing a couple feet from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was late this week! I find it very hard to keep creativity in a constant flow. Nonetheless, I’ve made a promise to myself to try and post a chapter every Sunday or sooner. I really feel like stability is a good quality to a writer, and can help one keep his readers around. This said, I’ll try harder from now on to deliver what I promise. Thanks for those who are supporting me so far, hopefully see you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, long time no see! I mean, we’ve never actually seen ourselves but you get my gist. I am really late, am I not? Did anyone miss me? I don’t really think so. Ok, let me explain, it’s summer where I live, and summer means rain season. I keep my laptop in a desk under my window, that I left open one day, and it rained, or better, I poured. My computer got soaked beyond salvation, I lost a couple of books and my desk lamp, so yay me for forgetting the window open. Only now I was able to save enough to buy a new laptop. Anyways, what really matters is that I’m back, back, back again.   
> Ps.: I got a little bit rusty since I haven’t written in a long time, and my story took a completely odd turn even I was not expecting, which basically means that I briefly approached some themes that could be considered heavy/triggering to some readers, such as anxiety/depression, existentialist themes, terrorism and death, although it was not in a meaningful depth. So, if you feel offended or bothered by anything written in there, please reach out in the comments and I will try and fix it. While I’m here, might as well place a warning for bad grammar and vocabulary in general.

As another day started, the sun also started to rise, for Oz dismay, since a bunch of light slithered through his bedroom blinds, lighting up the room just a little too much. Of course, too much light is any amount of light that disturbs the room’s perfect, gloomy, impenetrable darkness. Not that the monster was asleep, of course not, but how is a guy- I mean- a non-binary eldritch personification of fear have murkiness-induced anxiety crisis about the existential implications of his nature as an immortal and very powerful creature and yet ironically inflicted by paralyzing fear of the immense void that the universe bears and, by consequence, the whole monster society as it is known in a chamber that is not really obscure, but just only dimly illuminated? In case you are really wondering, he’s not, he can’t, and Oz is slightly annoyed by that, but he can’t be sulking around too much, as it is not really fun to stare into the abyss if there’s nothing to stare back at you, and damn, was he good at staring contests.

As much as he wanted to just stay in bed, given there seemed to be no point in leaving anyway, Oz stretched, wiped his eyes to cross the slumber away, he had to get up as he didn’t want anyone to realize he had no desire to be active, useful, or meaningful whatsoever. “Ugh, existential dread really sucks”, the pitch-black creature thought to himself, as he prepared a big nice dark coffee mug for himself, which was the only thing getting him through. That, and the fact that he has to be at least presentable to people in general, especially to the extroverts, so nobody would notice how lost and without a bigger purpose he was inside. I mean, there was no point, and he knew there was no point, it couldn’t be helped. He definitely did not want to feel like the is no purpose in existence as it is, but these thoughts kept coming, roaming around in the back of his head and popping up eventually and then flourishing up in the night, where the only noise is inside his head. It’s honestly to be expected, given the lack of signals of a bigger meaning for life, in these circumstances, it’s really understandable when one has no wish but to do nothing all day, but not everyone can quite grasp this concept, or rather, very few want to. Therefore, it’s better to keep a functional appearance, at least to avoid abrasion with other people, since it’s not really worth the effort, mainly due to the fact that the people Oz could talk and vent about this without them being completely self-centered, intoxicated or both were now gone. Wow, this got really heavy way too quickly. The “it’s way too soon for this” line even crossed Oz’s mid. Back to our normal “bad fanfic” schedule.

The water was reaching bubbling state, so Oz killed the fire and pored it in the filter with the powder, making circular motions just like in these fancy gourmet beans commercials, making sure to soak all the coffee and submerge it, leaving it to filter. As his beverage was slowly dripping into the mug, the fear mass took a moment to tidy up his bed, putting the top sheet on, even making a hospital corner, which, by the way, is not as morbid as it sounds, neatly laying the comforter making sure it is, contrary to himself, completely straight, nicely folding it down and placing the pillows in a stylish and Pinterest-worthy(-ish) way, all just for the sake of routine; yes, routines are the best, it makes people feel like they are in control of something in this train wreck that is life. Was this just my impression or I sounded a little bit like Milo just now?

Back to the kitchen, the coffee was already waiting, all nice and warm and wet…but not in like, a sexual way, just the regular way regular coffee is nice and wart and wet. I mean, if you put it like that, it does sound rather ambiguous, good thing nobody had any expectations for this, right? Because we just entered a weird territory of coffee-related sexual jokes. Anyway, back on track. Oz looked into his mug, admiring the sparkling darkness of the liquid sitting there, one could just tell that it had the perfect balance of bitterness and acidic nots of citric fruits, that would certainly embrace the drinker’s mouth like a mothers loving embrace of his long lost son coming back from war after being reported as missing in action, making a symphony not even a masterpiece of Ludwig “The Living Legend” Beethoven (I know, the nickname was better fitting when they first gave it to him, in like, the 1790s) would be a match to; the profusion of deep flavors giving you an emotional rollercoaster akin of the masterpiece that is Hamlet (at least the Lion King version I watched), combined with the greatest body to make the taste richer than the Vatican with all its gold-filled churches made this coffee mug, this one in particular, the best ever made, the tastiest, the prettiest, the most aromatic, intense, so much it’s perfection transcended time and space. Alexander the Great himself would stop the conquest of the ancient world just to have a sip, by force if needed, even though he never even dreamed about knowing what coffee is at that time. The greatest scientists of the future would create a time machine, motivated by the possibility to study such a legendary feat, and try to replicate artificially such amazingness, fail miserably as the utopic society of future collapse when no one believes in science, since it can’t replicate a cup of coffee. The pope might want to enclose this mug in the Vatican archives, because such excellence is only obtainable from God itself. Hell, the FBI is probably on their way right now to extract and destroy the beverage Oz created, fearing it might be too precious of an asset that it could cause a second cold war with the Scandinavians, the biggest coffee consumers in the world. You could see all that just looking at it. So, Oz threw it in the sink drain, because he does not have a mouth and cannot drink, nor does he need to, given that he is much more a timeless concept personified than an actual living being with living beings needs, that explains why he hasn’t got a bathroom and never receive mortal, living guests. He just made this coffee to appreciate the feeling of the caffeine addicts that populate the entirety of the In, and honestly, he finds it a little bit overrated.

After wasting good ground coffee, Oz then proceeds to do some Creepy Tok dances. He had never figured himself for a digital influencer himself, but these unnecessarily complex choreographies seem to be trending quite a lot with the current monster generation, so it is a nice way for he to blend in and seem like a normal functioning part of the non-functional group of society that is Creepy Tokers. Well, it would seem like it, where he not so bad at it. When trying to replicate those dance moves, he managed to perform a Korean ritual of exorcism for public toilets spirits, communicate with aliens that arrived in a spaceship of a very sex toy-esque shape and declare a war to French mimes, who proceeded to lock you up in the mime prison in Paris buck naked; well, not naked per se, but the inmates uniform was also mimicry, as was the jail, so Oz just ended up arrest in a very tiny invisible cage, with very invisible jail clothes, which were surprisingly comfy. Even after those fiascos, he kept doing these little 15 seconds videos, just to keep up with the act.

After accidentally signalizing to a plane to land on top of his building, Oz laid down his phone and logged out of the teen app, perhaps it was time for a little bit of digital detox, that’s where he saw an opportunity to do something he very rarely does: to leave home and just walk around town, and it was on his own volition, not because his apartment has been completely demolished by a ninety thousand pound aircraft trying to land on it. Well, maybe. Anyway, what he could do now is look for a new place to rent, and hopefully not have to socially interact with anyone for it, how he’d do it was a complete mystery, that didn’t stay like it for long, since seeing a ghost from his building (that did not die from the very recent plane crash, everyone involved in that was fine) that remembered him of one of his friends! Scott. Well, the ghost was a former player of the MFL, the Monsters Freakball League, so nothing more appropriated. Oz then decided he’d be a freakball player, a famous one at that, and earn quite some money for being an elite athlete. Sure, his phantasmagoric neighbor did end up poor with many debts and a painkillers addiction, but that’s because he didn’t have a bright enough personality to keep him in the favor of the public after he’d gotten too old to play, but Oz’s immortal, so he does not have to worry about dying like he did, or dying at all! It seems like a flawless idea. So he put his plan into motion by being adopted by a patronizing privileged family, who took him away from homelessness and put him under their roof, it was awesome, Sandra Bullock was his mom and he got a little brother, it kind of sucked when they all got involved in a car accident, but were lucky to survive. When they noticed his talent for sports, he was immediately put in his high school freakball team and… actually, no, none of this really happened, it turns out that you can’t really go through high school once you are a graduated adult, and Oz quite didn’t have the knack for competing against the giant monsters of rival schools, the talent they had seen wasn’t there and Sandra Bullock was declared legally blind for not seeing he was not a lost teenager. She claimed she thought it was just an improv scene and just played along. Oz and her won an Oscar for your acting, but is shamed in Hollywood for taking advantage of a now legally blind actress, and his career was sweet, but short and controversial. He did get some serious +2 Acting skills, +1 Oscar and -1 Acting Manager. It was fun while it lasted, and he did miss the scoring system from high school, even though he is now a wanted non-binary person under the accusation of terrorism, possible involvement in the 9/11, and identity theft.

After selling the Oscar he got for $152,780.86 to a red-haired woman from an alternate time line who desperately wanted that specific statue to save her friend that she has a sexually ambiguous relationship with, Oz was able to pay for a place downtown to stay at until he finds a new home. With the real state in an all-time high right now, what he could afford was a nice bench in the central park, he could’ve afforded a back alley, but this bench was right next to a public bathroom and a fountain, so it had a suite and hot baths (in the summer, that is), that’s why he thought the price difference was worth it. It had an extra bonus that it seemed the perfect empty creepy place to have a well-deserved mental breakdown. Oz laid against the hard wood of the bench and cried quietly, as to not bother the neighbors. “Fuck, everything’s out of control! I was just trying to make everything the right way, how did I mess up so bad?” This thought kept replaying in his head. He knew, better than anyone, that trying to fit in, to be like anybody and fade into the masses just to hide away imperfections is not the way to go, actually, it tends to do more harm than good. Truth be told, it was this that brought him into this situation, and yet he couldn’t get out of his head. The eventual emotional exhaustion and the stain from crying too long led Oz to fall asleep in the spot. He’d wake up right before the sunrise, still red-eyed, well, he’d done it, sabotaged himself to rock bottom AGAIN. It’s been like this since everyone left, it’s not like it was the first time of this happening, it tends to happen quite often when you’re around since, well, forever, but it happens every time, he meets somebody, and, when they leave, he’s back into his self-destructive behavior. Perhaps the constant need to appease all his friends to make sure he’s not forgotten keeps him from doing stupid shit like this for approval, or maybe the constant fear of losing somebody due to his behavior keeps him restrained from fucking everything up. Sometimes, Oz even wonders if he is somebody if he’s not perceived, would he still exist if he had nobody to testify to that. Maybe, just maybe that’s what led him to search for approval in the digital media in the first place.

— “AAAAAGGHH!! Stupid me, why I got to be this way??!!”

— Ay, bro, chill out, will you? I’ve got a hangover here and I’m trying to get some rest here before that greedy gremlin expels me from this bench to rent it.

About to explode in sheer rage, Oz turns around o scream at whoever is trying to shut him, just to see his old friend Polly Geist in person -err- spirit, soul?...laying in the bench next to his.

— Polly?

— Got me, that’s my name, congratulations, smart cookie, now let me rest my eyes for five godamn minutes?

— Polly, it’s me, Oz!

— And I could be dreaming I’m Dorothy right now, if you’d let me sleep in peace, so why don’t you click your heels together three times and get the hell outta here.

It was no use, all he met was an ill-tempered phantasm who was laying down turned away from him. Well, he’d dealt enough with her to know just what to do in this situation.

— Hey, look, that squirrel is carrying ketamine for an unknown reason.

In a split second, the once Sleeping Beauty turns into a less cute Lightning McQueen while she bolts through the trees looking for the said ketamine squirrel. As it turns out, the squirrels were, indeed, carrying packages of heavy drugs, since they were supposed to be in the potion business, but it seems like Juan The Small Magic Latino Cat™ had a monopoly of the market, what comes as a surprise given the qualities of his potion, no ketamine though.

Polly stomped her way back to the square, looking very angry and certainly red with fury, if she still had a body, that is. Oz tried greeting her properly, but instead took a jab to the cheek. 

— Here’s a tip from one of the Prank Masterz, when you prank somebody, you’re supposed to tell them they were in prank BEFORE they run five miles after a drug dealing chipmunk.

She seemed quite annoyed.

— Now I got no ketamine and no rest in my favorite park bench! You happy now?

“Great!” Oz thought, “You blew it again, what a clusterfuck”. Against his own instincts of having a panic attack then and there, he replied:

— I mean, you could crash in my place, if you want.

— Oh, now you want us to fuck in your apartment?

Well, this is getting out of hand quickly.

— N-no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant, what I was trying to say is that I woke you up by being noisy, and lied to you just now, and you’re probably hangover, wh-hey! don’t give mw that glare, you and I both know it’s true. Anyway, I’m just offering for you to rest a little until you’re well to go back home om your own.

While looking a little bit reluctant, Polly’s hangover won her over.

— Fine, where’s your place, is it near?

Oz made a move to sit closer to the edge of the bench, and patted the open space next to him.

— What the fuck? You remember you’re supposed to tell people after you’re done pranking them, right?

He shook his head and focused on a pebble on the floor.

— Oh my God, Oz! You’re really living in here?

— I mean, it’s not that bad, it’s got a suite and hot water to shower, in the summer, when the sun is hot enough to heat the water of the fountain.

— Oz, what happened? How did you end up here? Why are you smelling like airplane fuel?

— How do you know what airplane fuel smells like?

— I mean, it’s quite volatile, o I put it in a plastic bag once, let it evaporate and used as an inhaler. What? Are you telling me you’ve never done that?

— No?

— Oh, yeah, with the no mouth thing and all…Hey! We’re changing subjects here! You didn’t answer my question.

Oz then proceed to narrate everything that occurred to him yesterday, and how he ended up homeless in a park.

— Man, that’s fucked up and so farfetched that it seems very fitting to happen in this universe, yeah, sounds about right. So, you have nowhere to go? to stay?

Oz denied.

— Ah, I know, you should try being a professional MFL elite payer, that’d bring you enough money to rent a house.

Huh, a ghost and sports, Déjà vu. But he had already tried it, and one Oscar-winning actress got declared as legally blind because of him, so he politely declines her idea.

— I guess you’ve got a good point there. Well, it won’t end up with me being friends with a world-class athlete and being invited for the wildest parties and do drugs with celebrities, but you can stay at my place for the while being. 

— Really? For real?

— Sure, why not? I understand what you have been through lately, and I’d be a shitty person if I didn’t help. 

Oz’s white eyes sparkled with joy and relief.

— So…which one is yours? 

— What? Oh, the benches? None of them, really. I don’t actually live here. 

— You don’t? So why were you sleeping there? What were you doing here in the first place? 

— Well, duh, it’s obvious, this is where I meet my dealer.

— Makes sense.

— I know, right? Let’s get going, then? 

Oz started walking alongside Polly, which was hard to maintain due to the fact that’s she’s a ghost, o she just walks in a straight line to her destination while going trough any and every obstacle, trees, cars, walls, the ladies restroom in a restaurant, he barely kept up with her. Finally, both seem to be in a way that is headed to Spooky High.

— Are you living in our old school.

— Yeah, I kind of became the official haunting of Spooky High, self-assigned because I knew I was the best suited for the job. It’s kinda like the house ghosts in Harry Potter, but sluttier. Shall we go in?

— Got it! Let’s go.

The two monsters make their way into the school grounds, it’s early in the morning, so nobody’s in class just yet, or ever, if we’re being honest. Headed to the gym, Oz is shocked to discover that Polly lives under the court, in a chamber accessible trough a hidden trapdoor, but even more perplexed at the fact that it’s a torture chamber worthy of Miss Weavings herself. He never expected this to be there, well, never is too strong of a word, it was definitely in the realm of possibilities.

— What is this place?

— Well, it’s where I died, I was tortured by the Russian mafia to disclosure the location of a stolen treasure my great grandpa stole from them generations ago, and because I’m bound to here, I just seized the opportunity and made it my home sweet home.

— I don’t think this is true, you never told anyone how you really died.

— Fair enough, it’s just a room I’m decorating to live in the school, so I don’t have to get a job and pay rent.

— You’re decorating, but there’s absolutely nothing here other than torture materials.

— Shady, you know, I’m in the process, and the parties take too much of my time, it will be ready, eventually. Despite the fact that it’s a torture chamber, how do you feel about staying here? 

— Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to you for landing me a hand now, but I just get mixed feelings about Spooky High, since almost everyone is gone by now, So many memories. Wait…so many memories, that’s it!

— What’s what.

— Well, the memories about our high school, I remember earning money by mining bitcoins in the library. If I can find the computer I used in the library back then, I can get heaps of money and rent a new place.

— Well, it’s been a couple of years, do you think it will still be there?

— Only one way to find out.

— Off to the library, then. With the key I borrowed from Coach and didn’t bother to give back, because I know that that tiger never sets foot there. 

The two monsters made your merry way to the library and started looking for the old desktop Oz used to mine for cryptocurrency, much to their surprises, they hadn’t changed the computers since they left, which is a little bit of a sign of a lack of interest in the students’ education. Or everybody just got their own smartphone now. Finally, they find the one, still up and running. Oz’s way out of this situation. He’s ready, his skin would be sizzling with excitement, or the static of the computer screen, if he had one, and wasn’t a mass of pure fear. The process began.

He entered the digital mine in the Internet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you’ve reached the end (or just skipped to see this message, that’s fine too, even though it will not make as much sense), thank you for reading so far! If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t like how this chapter turned out. I went with the idea I liked the best, and thought the concept was really funny(-ish?), but I hated the execution of it, and couldn’t convey the ideas in a better way. This was my very best. What I’m trying to say is, I really hoped you liked it better than I did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading so far (I really hope you did)! I’d like to do some disclaimers. First and foremost, English is not my native language, but I really put in the effort to write in English and still keep a writing quality I was satisfied with, since most of the fandom of this game I got obsessed with are anglophones, and I wanted a share in that fandom, but yet I still feel the urge to apologize beforehand for grammatic mishaps, cringe and nonsensical writing, lack of vocabulary, and any gibberish in general. I also hope to be able to count with your support and improve with your help. I’m also aware that this is not looking quite like an Oz/Damien fic yet, but I promise if you bear with me, I’ll get there. Finally, I’d like to thank all of you in advance for the help. Really hoping that at least two people read this work, or else I’ll look kind of crazy talking to you like there’s so many people, LOL.


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